Always the Point Man
by Noxid Anamchara
Summary: The Inception of Fischer is finally completed but Ariadne is left alone in LA, unsure of what to do next. Perhaps a certain Point Man can be of service. Rated M for language only. For the moment.
1. After It All

**EM: **So, Inception. Is anyone else like amazed at how amazing it actually was? I mean I was floored. Maybe it was because I went in thinking it was just gonna be good. But man was I impressed. Or maybe it was Arthur in three-piece suits looking deliciously gorgeous, with his quick little smiles and his guns. I don't really know for certain (who are we joking, of course it was Arthur!) but regardless I have had this little thing floating around in my brain ever since I watched it, and it had been further reinforced after my third time watching it. I just absolutely have to give Arthur and Ariadne a try.

For now it is a one-shot, depending on how I feel about the plot that is further thickening within my head. I have some stuff written down, but depending on how you all like what I've written (or maybe I just won't care what you all have to say and still start posting it) I may or may not continue on with my plot bunnies. Anyway, sorry for the really long A/N. Now go read!

Reviews would be heaven sent.

**Disclaimer**: Inception is completely owned by a brilliant little man named Christopher Nolan, who I do hope to one day thank most graciously for taking the time to develop such an amazing concept.

* * *

_**After It All**_

It had been hard leaving the airport, watching as each of them went their separate ways, trying not to look once more into each of their faces to commit them to memory. She had the sinking feeling that this would be their last time seeing each other. Ariadne was not familiar with Los Angeles and her already frayed nerves didn't help. Sure, she now had plenty of money to stay the night at any hotel and get back home to Paris. But getting on another plane for hours on end held no appeal to her, although she hadn't technically been awake during the plane ride here.

In all honestly she just wanted to sleep for a week. She was ready for a nice relaxing break; perhaps spend some of the money she had earned. She waited at the curb for a taxi to pull up because, of course, at that moment there were none available. She looked to the right and her eyes searched the other waiting people. She reached into her coat pocket and found her chess piece and the altered weight it had. She rubbed her finger over the bottom, feeling the change. She was anxious to tip it over and watch it fall.

She loosened the scarf around her neck that was now making her feel choked on top of the growing anxiety within her. When she turned to check her bag at her feet the scarf, unbelievably, flew off her neck with the wind and she reached out to catch it. It slipped through her fingers and she growled in impatience. She grabbed her bag to her left and quickly took off after the scarf not exactly looking where she was going and effectively ran into someone, dropping the bag in hand.

"God I'm so sorry. I wasn't looking where I was-" She stopped when a hand gripped her forearm tight and looked up in sudden fear but sighed in relief at seeing Arthur's bourbon colored eyes staring back at her strangely.

"I believe this is yours miss." She looks down at her scarf in his hands and smiles broadly. She takes it gently, her fingers brushing against his and she feels a slight hint of heat hit her cheeks, the sudden memory of _they're still looking at us_ and the smile that followed his completely-Eames-suggestion telling her that he knew it wouldn't work. He had just wanted a little incentive before he had to make his move against the projections.

She would admit she hadn't minded though.

"Thank you." She wrapped it around her neck once again and didn't feel that same suffocating feeling she had before, wondering if Arthur's presence had anything to do with her calming nerves.

"Here you are." She looked down and then he was handing her the bag she had dropped. She smiled again wondering if Arthur was showing her that chivalry wasn't dead or if he was just looking out for her, like the brilliant point man he was.

"Are you waiting for a taxi?" She looked around at the road, watching as people greeted each other, stepping into cars and out, couples racing to meet the other, children reaching for parents. Arthur had to know that she was and perhaps he was just checking up on her. But they were supposed to be strangers so she kept it natural.

"Yes. But naturally there aren't any when I need one." She watched as he scanned the empty airport road, his eyes, which surprisingly always seemed warm despite his calculating and poised manner, picking out things she would probably never notice. She looked sidelong at his three-piece suit, practically mooning over the way it fit snugly against his deliciously lean body.

"Is this your first time in LA?" She turned to him startled. She vaguely wondered if it was really safe for them to be speaking together, but she wouldn't deny this opportunity to do so.

"I'm afraid so. But that's why they call it 'gaining experience', right?" She smiled warmly at him, hoping that this simple conversation would not end. He smiles slightly in return. This does not deter her though, as she had learned early on that Arthur's smiles were slow to come, like honey. They always ended sweet when she had the patience to wait.

But her smile faded as Arthur's attention was pulled from her and he hailed down the first cab that came into view. It came right to them despite the few others that stood further ahead of Ariadne who were also looking for one (this did not surprise her though just as everything that came with Arthur was starting not to). It all happened so quickly that Ariadne was suddenly being ushered into the cab, her bag already deposited into the trunk and plenty of twenties folded neatly into the driver's hand with instructions to take her wherever she wished.

"Wait." Arthur paused outside the door, his lean fingers gripping the tarnished yellow edge softly. What could she say?

"Always the point man, huh" she whispered. It was just like him to find his way to her, the junior dream agent and to take care of the things that she needed. How did she thank someone who just took it as his job? So she opted for the quickest solution and one she was suddenly nervous to do.

She stuck out her hand. He looked down, eyebrows scrunched together. Her heart skipped a little. She would miss that beautiful wrinkle that fell so neatly between his brows. He stuck his hand into his pocket and then pulled it out again, sliding it gently into hers. She felt a piece of paper folded between their palms and she was once again floored by his constant ability to be prepared for anything. When she felt him begin to pull away, she gripped his hand tighter and stepped up to him, not ready to see him go just yet.

She placed a hand against his chest, the material of his suit smooth against her skin and reached up on her toes, her mouth moving towards his ear. He was still beneath her, his heart beating rhythmically beneath her palm and she inhaled the deep scent she had grown to love as Arthur; a mixture that consisted of gunmetal, a hint of cologne and Armani material.

"Thank you, for everything Arthur" she whispered and then kissed him on the cheek, feeling that faint, familiar muscle twitch beneath her lips. She smiled gently and then slipped her hand from his, clutching the little paper tightly and folding her legs neatly in the cab. The door closed after her and she bit her lip, keeping sudden tears at bay.

She couldn't remember the last time she had cried and she wasn't about to do it now. She turned to see Arthur still standing beside the cab, looking through the window as if…she couldn't really place where she had seen that look. But then his face fell back to that familiar composure he was known for and he picked up his own bag at his side and stepped away discreetly.

"Where to miss?" She watched Arthur disappear through the crowd and then unfolded the paper in her hand.

_Chateau Marmont  
Suite 5  
Ms. Riverdale  
ID in bag  
Stay as long as you like. _

_ -A_

She smiled softly. _Always my point man. _

The cab driver waited patiently for her response, the stack of twenties feeling like gold in his hand. He watched her face light up.

"_Chateau Marmont_ please."

* * *

**EM: **Again, reviews would be absolutely lovely. Hope you enjoyed!


	2. Attempting Normal

**EM:** Yes! I am continuing with Always the Point Man!

Happy New Year everyone! So I don't normally update this fast (so don't expect it to always be like this), but I figure it's a new year and I better start it off better than my day has actually been going. I hope you all are having a wonderful holiday. And I really want to thank all of you who reviewed, alerted and even favorited! There's been a constant flow of ding's from my phone about all the alerts I'm getting and I always get the cheesiest grin when I see them. For those of you who didn't review, but did other alerts (thank you truly but) please consider reviewing this time. I would absolutely die of happiness.

I want to thank **platypus core** for being the first to review. And I would also like to thank **a-happy-little-ending **because for some reason I really liked your review and it made me feel good, especially since my day has been not so good. For those of you who I didn't respond back to, I'm sorry. Things were a little hectic and I just forgot. Please forgive me!

One last thing, this chapter is again Ariadne centered-focused actually and it's quite long (they won't always be this way either). I know we're all waiting for Arthur but Ariadne keeps speaking to me, rather loudly and I wanted to give her a chapter. For **AngelWildWings181**, she is not the complete damsel here, which I have also found that others keep writing her as, and I am so glad that you liked her my way. In my eyes, Ariadne is a strong-willed woman, and though she may have her own problems, it doesn't mean that she needs Arthur to be around for her to move on. So this is my take on her. Hope you all like it despite the complete lack of Arthur-it killed me to write a chapter without Arty, **trust me**. Sorry for the really long A/N (again!). For some reason I had a lot to say. **ENJOY!**

Reviews, again, would be heaven sent.

**Disclaimer: **Inception is completely owned by a brilliant little man named Christopher Nolan, who I do hope to one day thank most graciously for taking the time to develop such an amazing concept.

* * *

**Attempting Normal**

It had in fact been very difficult to return to 'civilization' as she liked to call it. These were people she had to deal with directly again, not projections. When she did something she instantly felt might be wrong, she would look up in sudden anticipation, waiting for them all to converge on her. But of course, it never happened and then she would laugh anxiously at herself for being so paranoid while she fingered the bishop she had taken to carrying with her _everywhere_.

After she had said her goodbye to Arthur and made her way to the hotel, which wasn't simply a hotel but a beautifully crafted piece of architecture that stole her breath, she had found it hard to sleep, though that was all she wanted to do. She had, actually, found it hard to do anything. Talking with the receptionist had been difficult for Ariadne because lying wasn't exactly one of her strong suits, especially when she had mentioned a Mr. Cambridge and it had taken a minute for Ariadne to realize that it had to be one of Arthur's aliases.

Maneuvering through the hotel hallways without looking over her shoulder after every corner had been interesting as well. Many of the other guests had given her sidelong glances. She had even searched her entire room when she had entered it, after she had been stunned into silence at the magnificence of it all. Arthur had truly outdone himself this time, finding her a hotel that would be suited to her tastes. She had to wonder how much information he had acquired to know this. She realized that she may not want to know just how much he knew about her.

Thinking about Arthur brought her back to the airport and the goodbye she had left him with. She wished they could have had more time together. Being alone, in that beautifully rich room had left her with a pit in the bottom of her stomach and the gnawing in her chest only grew till she had to order a bottle of wine to subdue her nerves.

Where she then found out that Arthur was paying for _everything_, though she should have known, him being the best point man around. She could go for a massage, eat lunch on their garden terrace surrounded by people she could never associate with and watch any movie she wanted. When she went out onto the balcony she was given a magnificent view of Sunset Boulevard, its dazzling lights giving off the most beautiful glow that accented the night sky. None of this though did anything to assuage her growing fear that _this_ was it.

The job was over. And she would probably never see any of them ever again.

She did cry then, as she buried herself beneath the soft sheets. It wasn't hysterical or emotional though. She realized it was relieving the ache in her chest, her swirling thoughts and the all-around depression at the situation that was swooping down on her. Instead of screaming, laughing or doing anything physical, she had found that crying was taking away some of the anxiety within her. A sort of release. She would _never_ admit to anyone later on of course that she had cried, but she allowed herself to do so, the salty tears streaming down her face.

And she fell asleep thinking of the job and everyone she was going to miss.

She woke the next morning, her chess piece clutched in her right hand, though she didn't remember falling asleep with it and her eyes slightly swollen and salt on her lips. She was disoriented for a moment, confused as to why she had woken up in the softest bed she had ever slept in and quickly swung her legs over the edge and tipped over the chess piece on the end table.

_Not dreaming._

She then remembered the events of before and sighed in both relief and sadness. Not sure of what to do next, she looked down to find herself _still_ in the previous day's clothes and opted out for a shower. She made her way to the bathroom and turned the handles and water sprang from the silver shower head, steam quickly rising from it. She stripped out of all of her clothes, each article dropping carelessly on the ground and then she stepped into the hot water and the tiled shower. She had to turn down the hot water slightly, because any hotter and it would scald her skin and she exhaled loudly when it hit her face. The water washed away the salty tracks on her face, relaxed her stiff muscles and cleared her head.

And then she burst into a fit of giggles at how much she was enjoying such a simple shower.

So when her sides ached and her laughter subsided she practically moaned in pleasure when the soft smell of lavender assaulted her nostrils and she began to massage the soap into her skin. When she started on the shampoo she melted when she began to massage her scalp and decided at that moment to use Arthur's generosity and get a massage before she left.

When it all washed away and she stepped from the shower feeling clean and refreshed, she renewed her resolve. She would go home to Paris, go back to school and the ridiculous amount of work that she would have to make up, perhaps get a new flat and attempt to gain normalcy back. She knew that it may be hard, but she would need to try.

And that was what she had done after she had eaten the room service that had brought quite a few of her favorite foods for breakfast that made her wonder _what else_ Arthur could possibly do for her at this point. She had gotten her massage, booked a flight to Paris and made her way home. There she found her empty flat and wandered through the rooms, touching everything like she needed to reacquaint herself with it. She had tipped the bishop twice, out of habit now more than anything, and then opened all of the windows and the blinds. She set about doing things that would keep her hands and her mind busy, like emptying out the fridge, shaking out blankets, dusting furniture, straightening out the flat. It was only then that she realized how little she had actually done when she had been working for that month and a half with the team. She had failed to keep her flat orderly and clean.

She argued with herself that it was just the way things worked when your mind was completely taken over by an idea like dream-sharing because honestly, who would ever guess such a thing existed. She figured she was taking care of it now anyway. And then after that she had decided that she liked her flat very much and moving to a new one would be wasteful. So she spent some of her money on things she needed and put the rest toward paying her ridiculous school loans. She bought a new rug because the previous one had too many stains to count on it, a new coffee table because it was about time for a new one, stocking the fridge with food, real, edible food that could be cooked and then put money aside for things that she may want over time.

All of this though did nothing to quell the anxiety she had developed. She had found out rather quickly, as soon as she had gotten home to Paris and went to sleep in her own bed that very same night that she could still dream.

And when she dreamed it was always a guess as to who would be there when she closed her eyes.

The first night it had been Mal. An angry, bleeding from the abdomen Mal, who told her she would never know what it was like to be half of a whole and who wielded a knife, ready to stab her because she _had no right_ to shoot her like that. Ariadne had woken up in a sweat and had reached for the bishop immediately. Her hands shook as she tipped it over, _six times_ that night, and when she was sure that it was _just a dream_ she had gone to the bathroom, splashed cold water over her face and went back to bed. She wouldn't even admit to herself that she had briefly wished that Arthur and his assuring presence had been there to check on her. It had taken a few hours to fall back asleep but she did and when she had woken up again, realized she had not dreamed again, tipped the bishop and then moved on.

From then on, it became a rotation of who would come to her dreams. The second night was Arthur and she was embarrassed that night after waking to know she had _dreamed_ about Arthur. The night after was Eames. She woke to this one wondering why it hadn't been Cobb but then Cobb showed up the fourth night and so on. Sometimes she had more Arthur, other times it was Mal. Sometimes it was Mal stabbing Arthur or Cobb, sometimes it was Eames berating her for having such ridiculous dreams and sometimes it was no one and she was alone with a number of projections who ignored her.

Either way dreams became a source of her fitful sleep. Professor Miles became increasingly worried but she had assured him that it was just the dreams that kept her from gaining the proper sleep she needed and that she didn't need anyone to talk to about it.

And so her life moved on, she becoming accustomed to the nightmares, making sure to have plenty of tea on hand to calm her nerves if they were especially bad. Going back to school was difficult because dream-sharing was unlike anything she had ever experienced. She hadn't really wanted to give it up but nothing had come about after LA. So she accepted, not by choice, that this was what she was supposed to do. Be normal.

Sometimes she talked with Professor Miles about dream-sharing, seeing as he was the only one around who knew of what she had done. Sometimes she would walk by the warehouse, sneaking in and sitting in the one lawn chair that was left, imagining Eames in his corner, practicing the habits of Browning in a mirror, or Cobb in the corner, 'testing' a new formula of the somnacin and Arthur bent over her maze models, his gaze intent and focused on what she was telling him.

It was apparent she missed the kind of focus that Arthur had offered. When she discussed architecture with the students at the university she could see the difference in their eyes. It was mediocre at best. Arthur had offered her intensity, calculating advice and the same passion about dreams.

Some days, she realized she missed his presence terribly, especially when she discussed architecture. Eames may have thought that Arthur had no imagination, but she knew better than to assume that this had Arthur lacking. What he didn't have in imagination he more than made up for. Sometimes his work had been so perfect, so masterfully done she had wondered where he had learned it all.

But mostly she missed his constant and assuring abilities and the way he could always take care of her without making her feel like she couldn't do it on her own. Ariadne knew she didn't need some bodyguard to watch out for her but it was nice to know that someone would and could do it.

She sighed.

"Month four." She crossed off one more day on her calendar. It had been four months since the Fischer job. Four months since she had done any type of dream sharing. Four months of pure torture. She flopped onto the couch.

After several minutes of brooding she decided to make use of what daylight she had left. No use sitting around wishing for something that wasn't going to come about.

By the time she came home she was tired and spent. After a long bath and some chamomile tea, she finally found her way to her bed, where she melted beneath her sheets. She reached over to the night stand and brought the chess piece into her palm. When she clicked off the light, she situated herself beneath the sheets, sighing in pleasure as they wrapped her up, the softness a blessing.

It took her a few minutes before she slipped off to half-sleep, her mind thinking about who would visit her tonight. She blanched.

Tonight was Mal again. A shiver ran down her spine and she pulled the sheets tighter. The ones with Mal were beginning to get worse. Sometimes she didn't die right away and Mal would torture her. Sometimes Arthur didn't die right away. She hated those dreams the most. But her nerves couldn't keep her awake any longer and sleep claimed her.

_For some reason, Mal's hair was always meticulously perfect, each ringlet falling perfectly around her face, framing those beautiful eyes of hers. It contrasted with the angry wound in her middle and the blood that slowly dripped from it. She looked to Mal's hand and found a knife there again, but this time there was also a gun sitting on the table next to her. The knife was normal so this did not surprise Ariadne._

_Mal smiled. "You still don't know, do you?" Ariadne attempted to move but found her wrists and ankles bound by heavy chains. _

_"What do you want Mal?" Ariadne had taken to speaking to the shade. It usually helped her focus on what to say next than what she was actually doing. _

_"For you to understand what you took from me!" Mal slapped Ariadne hard across the face. Ariadne gasped in surprise and pain, the chains behind her clanking loudly. Blood pooled in her mouth and dribbled down her chin. When she looked up again, her eyes widened. _

_"Arthur?" Mal smiled wickedly at Ariadne's whisper of recognition, drawing closer to him. _

_He was lying on the ground, his usually slicked back hair a mess, falling around his face. His suit, what would have been a smoke colored three piece with a crimson colored tie, was ripped in places and splotched with stains of blood. He was not wearing shoes and his face was battered, a deep purple colored bruise already forming across his cheek, blood dripping down his chin. She heard him groan. _

_"This is a dream." Ariadne willed herself to remember that this was **just** a dream and that Arthur was safe somewhere. _

_"If it is a dream, then wake up." Ariadne scowled. She couldn't just wake up, especially if her hands were bound. And this wasn't like the dreams she got with the somnacin. _

_"You can't can you?" Ariadne hated the way that Mal seemed to enjoy the torture. "That's because this isn't a dream." Mal always said that in her dreams. She figured it was probably because Cobb's Mal always claimed it was never a dream. _

_"I'm going to make you watch. Watch as he dies. Watch as he disappears from your life forever." Ariadne pulled against the chains again, her breathing becoming erratic at Mal's approach to Arthur. His eyes fluttered open and he attempted to rise. Mal swiftly kicked him in the stomach and he doubled over, spitting blood. Mal laughed once and plunged the knife into his thigh. _

_Arthur screamed and Ariadne turned her head, holding back the scream that she too wished she could release. _

_"It's just a dream Ariadne. Only a dream." Her whispers became her lifeline to what she knew was the truth. This was just her subconscious. _

_She gave one short quick laugh. A subconscious that tortured her. _

_She heard Arthur scream again and flinched. "Ariadne...run." She looked up in surprise. Normally Arthur did not speak or he was never given the chance to. Hearing his voice though was painful. She could feel pain welling up in her chest, pain at seeing Arthur harmed. She hated her dreams. She **hated** them. _

_And then Mal grabbed him by the hair, lifted his head and laughed as she slit his throat. When she released him, he slumped to the ground, his eyes staring widely back at her. _

_"That's what you did to me." Mal closed in on her, her face mere inches away. "You took my Dom away from me. I'm only giving you what you gave me." Tears started to stream down Ariadne's face as Mal raised the knife once more and aimed for her heart._

_This time, she did scream._

She launched herself upright, her mouth open in a scream. Her hands frantically searched the bed around her, the bishop lost amongst the sheets. Only when her hand closed around it, so tight she felt it beginning to bruise, did she exhale in relief. Her heart pounded furiously and she was breathing fast. She brought her knees up to her chest and laid her head on her knees.

_It was just a dream, Ari. Calm down. Just a-_

What was that? She looked around and realized that her phone was ringing. She scrambled off the bed towards her bag where her cell phone had been left and started tossing out books and papers until she found the glowing screen and quickly flipped it open without looking at the number.

"H-hello?" She cursed internally at the way her hello came out stuttered and frantic. There was silence at the other end and she waited, wondering if she had missed the call. But then she heard breathing and was about to say something again when a voice came through.

"_Ariadne?_" She heard the slight hesitation in her name and the deep voice was instantly familiar, the ring of her name making her breath hitch.

She was no longer dreaming right? She placed the bishop on the floor and tipped it over three times to be sure.

"Arthur?"

* * *

**EM: **I like cliffhangers. :) Remember, reviews are beautiful!


	3. Adjustment of Personnel

**EM: **This is a rather quick update for me. It's not as long as CH2, but it's up there with CH1. I'm taking a turn into my story, which will either make me or break me. Meaning you'll all either be cool with it or not. But it's where I wanted to go. For all of you who reviewed I give my shout out. Thank you so much! And for those of you who only favorited or alerted, a review is pretty easy to do. But thank you nonetheless.

**Rating **has changed to **Mature** because of Eames and the amount of cursing he does in my head.

**Disclaimer**: Inception is completely owned by a brilliant little man named Christopher Nolan, who I do hope to one day thank most graciously for taking the time to develop such an amazing concept.

* * *

**_Adjustment of Personnel_  
**

**4 months after LAX…**

"_There hasn't been any movement._" He nodded to no one, being alone in the empty, temporary apartment he was living in.

"Good. Check in again tomorrow." And he hung up the phone, pleased that things were staying quiet. He needed it that way if he was going to formulate a plan of action _and_ bring together a team. He put a hand in a pocket and with the other pushed around the papers at his desk, the only thing that showed that someone actually lived there. On the papers were faces and profiles.

It wasn't that he couldn't handle being point man _and_ taking the responsibilities of the extractor, but Dom was usually the one who had pulled the team together, organized everyone. Arthur took care of schematics, like weapons and profiles. He didn't mind being the force behind Dom. And he liked a challenge but he also knew that having an extractor, especially one like Dom, certainly had its advantages.

He picked up the phone again and dialed the number he had recently acquired and memorized.

He would regret this phone call later, but he had no choice. It rang, once, twice and then there was the click.

"_I knew you couldn't stay away for long, love._" Arthur takes a breath, keeping control over his urging desire to hang up the phone. He _was_ the best at his job.

"Eames." He hears a slight chuckle on the other end. That damn chuckle that he knew always preceded something that he wasn't going to like.

"_Let me guess, you have a job offer._" And there it was. Though he despised the man at times, there was no denying that they worked well together because in the end, Eames seemed to know him well. A thought he sometimes wished was not true.

"Saito called. He's got a potential buyer." Eames snorts.

"_I'm glad you think of our services as objects to be sold and profited from._" Arthur breathes again, his jaw clenching. "_Cobb always was the diplomat,_" he says as an afterthought. Arthur ignores the half insult. "That's exactly what they are Eames."

"_Yes, yes darling. But tell me._" He waits for the obvious question, already an answer prepared. "_Where in the hell will we find an extractor to match the quality of Cobb?_"

This time Arthur snorts, uncharacteristically of him. Find someone as good as Cobb? Cobb was called the best for a reason. They would not find someone as good as him. But Arthur knew of someone that just might _almost_ be as good as Cobb.

"We won't." He hears Eames begin to protest but cuts him off. "I have someone in mind, whose skills may just be enough." Silence followed as what Arthur guessed was Eames picking through his brain on just who he might have in mind.

"_That's wonderful and all, but 'just may be enough' is not promising. And I'm not going into a job without Cobb._" This was what Arthur had been afraid of. That everyone would say no to the job unless it was Cobb leading. But he had already discussed things with Cobb.

"_Look you're just going to have to convince the others to do it without me." Arthur knew it was a serious long-shot asking Cobb to do another job. But he still had to ask. _

"_I thought as much Dom. I still had to ask." He heard Dom sigh and could already see him running his hand through his hair. _

"_I understand why you say no Dom. And I hold nothing against you. But my next question is-"_

"_Who else is as good as me." Arthur smiled a little smile. Dom always knew and whether he had retired or not, some things you just didn't lose. There were times when he wondered why Dom had invited him to be his point man. Dom was more than capable of doing both the point man and the extractor's job. However it would be a lot of work. He enjoyed working with Dom though and was glad he had been offered the position. _

"_Yes." There was silence at the other end of the line and Arthur waited. _

"_There are three who might be enough. They're the best after me Arthur." Cobb paused. "It's what I can give you."_

Arthur had done research on all three of them and they were, of course, three of the five Arthur had considered himself. But only two had given any kind of stimulating response from Arthur. The first he immediately started to track down and found in Finland. His track record was good, he would give him that. But he was also blind, an aspect he was not willing to chance. He didn't need to cripple the team with a blind man on the outside, even if he could see in dreams.

But the second one, that one didn't make him feel any better.

"_Well let's hear it then._" Arthur brought his thoughts back to Eames. "Hear what?" Eames sighed in frustration. "_Who you have in mind that 'just may be enough'._" Arthur reached into his pocket and pulled out his loaded die, fingering it. If Arthur knew Eames as well as Eames knew him, then this may not go over so well.

"_Calipso_." There's a moment of silence that Arthur is not sure if it's Eames disbelief at what he suggests or if he simply doesn't know who he suggests. When the silence stretches too far for comfort Arthur shifts his feet. Eames always had something to say.

"Eames?"

"_Are you bloody joking?_" Arthur moves the phone from his ear for the moment, not surprised at the response.

"_We don't even know if _Calipso_ is a he or a she!_" This seemed to be the least of their worries in Arthur's opinion, though for Eames perhaps this was the biggest. "_Not to mention it's the stupidest name I've ever encountered._" Arthur had nothing to say to that. It wasn't a name to him, more a title, like he was the point man, Eames the forger, though he could also be a thief. Perhaps this was the true issue then.

"_Calipso_ is our best bet Eames." He hears him growl through the phone. "Cobb won't do it. His kids are far too important for him to up and leave them again." This was the least of Eames' worries though. "_I don't fucking care what Cobb thinks is more important or not! Do you know the rumors that surround _Calipso_?_" Of course Arthur knew. It was his job as point man to gather everything he could about their job and the people involved.

"I have heard the rumors Eames. That is why I plan on finding _Calipso_ first and…testing them to see if they can perform what needs to be done." He hears Eames sigh at this logical point but is still unsure of whether he's onboard or not. He knows what will work though.

"The offers for 7.5 million." He said it quietly but knew by Eames sudden silence that he had been heard. The silence doesn't stretch nearly as long as Arthur would have thought.

"_You're pulling my wanker love._" Eames' quiet and distasteful remark tells Arthur that he now has the forger's full attention.

"Never even in your dreams" he states matter-of-factly moving beyond the innuendo. Eames laughs lightly at the other end. "But no. I am not." Eames sighs in defeat.

"_Who else would be involved in this little escapade of ours? And don't take that question as a confirmation darling._" Arthur knew Eames wouldn't pass up the chance of a share of 7.5 million though. It was more money than he had expected himself. That amount alone made him wary of what the job would be.

"Yusuf of course, you-"

"_Wait, before even that. What exactly are we extracting?_" Arthur pauses mid-sentence. Here it was. He waited a moment to prepare for what Eames might say.

"Saito never told me."

There's a pause at the end of the line, complete and utter silence unlike what had happened before. He couldn't even hear Eames' breathing.

"_Arthur, dear, since when have you __**ever**__ considered a job without knowing the details of the mission and who the mark is?_" He can hear Eames' disbelief and suspicion at what is uncommon for Arthur, though he would admit he had been expecting a little more…objection.

Arthur did not make mistakes, unless you count the Fischer job, and he had thus made a decision. Not knowing that Fischer had been trained had cost Saito his life in the dream and had nearly set them all back and Arthur would not repeat that same mistake again.

"I am not the extractor Eames. Cobb was the one who led the job. My job is to make it happen. And I didn't press any further because _without_ an extractor" he enunciated, "we cannot even consider the job." Eames' breathing is even and Arthur waits for a response.

That he doesn't get for three minutes. He's tempted to hang up on the forger, his patience dwindling, when he hears the intake of air.

"_Then why are we discussing a job that isn't a job yet?_"

"Because I want you to come with me when I meet_ Calipso_." Eames sighs.

"_And where are we meeting _Calipso_?_" Arthur shrugs back into his suit jacket, passing the phone from hand to hand.

"Italy."

* * *

**EM:** Thanks for reading! Click the review/alert/favorite button!

A/N: Calipso is something that I inserted into my head for the potential extractor as just a fill-in but, as it would turn out, I can't find a replacement name that would be better. So Calipso stays. Ah well.

Another A/N: Also, in this chapter Arthur hasn't called Ariadne yet. If anyone was any kinds of confused about that.


	4. An Arbitrary Compromise

**EM:** I warned you all. I'm terrible with updating. But never fear! Here is another chapter for you. It's not much, but it's what I can give you for now. Thank you to those who reviewed, you're all so very wonderful. Don't forget to leave another one at the end there! Love you lots!

******Disclaimer**: Inception is completely owned by a brilliant little man named Christopher Nolan, who I do hope to one day thank most graciously for taking the time to develop such an amazing concept.

* * *

**An Arbitrary Compromise**

"_Ah Italia. A fine country, filled with beautiful women, rich food, elegant sites. Did I mention beautiful women?_" Arthur ignores Eames pointless prattle, waiting for whatever it was he wanted to really say.

"What Eames?"

"_While Italia is a beautiful place love, wouldn't it be a waste to visit Calipso without knowing if the rest of the team is up for it?_" Arthur sighed in impatience. He wanted to know if Calipso would even be worth the time and effort before letting his team know whether there would be a job or not. He wasn't going to go into the job without an extractor.

"I'm not doing the job without an extractor or a half-assed one either." He could hear Eames shuffling with something on the other end.

"_That's fine and all, but you should let the rest of them know it won't be Cobb._" Arthur still didn't want to tell the team and perhaps get a few of the others hopes up with the possibility of a job only to have it fall through.

"_I'm not going with you to Italy unless you call the rest of the team._ Particularly_ a certain architect._" Arthur gripped the die in his palm and paced the wood floor of his apartment. Eames made a valid point, though he knew he also did. He gritted his teeth.

"_Arthur-_"

"There isn't any need to call them Eames if the extractor falls through." Eames was fiddling with something in the background and it was starting to annoy Arthur.

"_Yes you've already mentioned that, but as a courtesy to our fellow mates you should tell them of our plans. They may just be waiting by the phones for _your_ call specifically_," and Arthur highly doubted that but he didn't interrupt Eames over it,"_and if one of them should find out that you neglected to tell them beforehand that we went to the extractor _first_, well. I should hate to be the one on your side._" Arthur gritted his teeth again and took three seconds to be childishly immature. There was a split moment where he imagined himself leaving Eames in limbo with a single gun and a single bullet laughing while he left and then he was the point man again and taking a breath.

"Fine. I'll call them." Eames chuckled at the other end, satisfied he had won this time.

"_I have her number if you need-_"

"I already have it," he spoke quickly out of slight irritation.

Silence. Arthur realized only too late his mistake. The die rolled between his fingers deftly.

"_Do you now._" Arthur gritted his teeth at his own carelessness. Eames wasn't going to forget that one.

"I'll meet you in Florence, Eames" and as he snapped the phone shut he heard Eames' laughter. He tossed it on the desk carelessly. Eames wasn't going to forget this conversation and that made Arthur even more peeved. He tossed the die across the table, watching as it tumbled slowly until the single white dot stared grimly back at him. He swiped it back up.

He didn't like having to make compromises, especially with Eames. And he especially didn't like that Eames managed to get that out of him either.

Moving past the Eames complication before he really did something rash, he ran through who to call. Yusuf was back in Mombasa, his own concoctions earning him a reputation within the dream-sharing community. That phone call wouldn't be too difficult.

Saito seemed to suggest that he would be sitting this one out. It didn't make much of a difference though, unless they needed more members on the team. One other call not to worry about.

There was only one call to which he was avoiding.

He hadn't spoken to his architect since their last conversation at the airport. He had provided her with a hotel that he knew would be to her liking and then moved on.

_Sort of. _

But Eames didn't know about that at least. And he was going to keep it that way. He didn't need Eames having one more over his head. _He_ was the one who knew things about the others. Not the other way around.

He pulled out the die he was fingering in his pocket and threw it across the desk again, watching as it landed on the one. All he needed was the partner of the die and he'd have snake eyes.

"_You have one and I'll have the other." This seemed to defeat the purpose, separating the loaded die. Though his was red, the other was clear. _

"_There's no point to the die if we separate them. They just become another useless tool." Clear blue eyes sparkled with mischief; something Arthur had grown to understand would always lead to an ambiguous answer. _

"_That's right Arthur. Tools are always useless. Alone." Then there _was_ no purpose to separating the die. _

"_They need others to have a purpose."_

He was beginning to understand now though that there was meaning behind every word that had been spoken to him. Pushing aside those clear blue eyes, he brought himself back to the reality that he needed to call her.

He picked up the phone and dialed her number quickly before he found a reason to hang up.

He waited as it rang once, twice, three times and continued to ring. He frowned, paced and checked the watch at his wrist. He massaged his temples with his thumb and forefinger, mentally berating himself for being unusually tactless today. First his failing temper with Eames, then his slip up and now this. It was 4:27 in the morning in Paris at the moment.

"_H-hello?_" He straightened at the way her voice sounded strained and how she was breathing heavily on the other end, the way she stuttered out her hello, momentarily endearing, though worrisome. He waited a moment to see if there would be any other indicators that she might be in trouble or if she was just flustered at being woken up so early. But he was followed by silence. A very long, painful silence.

"Ariadne?"

There was silence again and he was beginning to hate the quiet static that was becoming the trend of his phone calls recently. Just as he was about to repeat her name her voice came through the speaker.

"_Arthur?_"

* * *

**EM:** See you again.


End file.
